society

Sitting in his overcushioned chair, he slouches over his cold, metal desk. He continues to tap at his keyboard, stopping every so often to rephrase a sentence or to backspace because the "s" key keeps sticking. 

He has greasy hair and unclipped fingernails. His skin is blotchey and his body disproportioned. His eyes bloodshot from the long days at the office. His teeth are yellowed. He wears an oversized trenchcoat to cover his buldging stomach. His loose glasses constantly slip to the tip of his nose. 

This man is Society. He's the one, stuck in a room lacking natural light, telling girls their waists are too wide. Telling boys that real men look like Abercrombie models. He's making girls believe that boys only want the sleezy and the slutty. He's telling boys that respect is history. He's convinced girls that anorexia is beautiful and that roids are a man's best friend. 

But why are we listening to this smudge-faced, mucky-breathed, trashy-clothed man?